


Touch Your Skin, Love You Right

by unbecomings



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Lindsey is big ok, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbecomings/pseuds/unbecomings
Summary: “I can’t see the TV,” Lindsey says, as if she was watching it.“You took my spot,” Emily says simply, and Lindsey takes a deep breath, burying her face in the back of Emily’s shoulder.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 3
Kudos: 111





	Touch Your Skin, Love You Right

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Beauty' by Wolf Colony.
> 
> Yell at me on Twitter @unbecomings_. I'm private now but my Curiouscat is always open.

Lindsey is in a mood. Emily has taken her favorite spot on the couch, the spot where Lindsey can stretch out her legs easiest, and Lindsey is in a mood. The two things are unrelated, mostly. Lindsey was in a mood before they got to the couch, and she knows Emily can tell, because when Emily stands up and goes into the kitchen for water, she asks if Lindsey wants any.

Usually she would just bring Lindsey some without asking, whether she wanted it or not. This time she asks, and Lindsey says no, and moves to the spot on the couch that Emily has just left open.

When Emily comes back into the living room, she places her glass of water on the coffee table and deposits herself directly in Lindsey’s lap. 

“I can’t see the TV,” Lindsey says, as if she was watching it.

“You took my spot,” Emily says simply, and Lindsey takes a deep breath, burying her face in the back of Emily’s shoulder. In her lap Emily wriggles, and Lindsey’s mood goes from distantly sour to something entirely different in no time at all. 

“Em,” Lindsey warns, knowing the tone of her voice will convey what she’s not saying, knowing that Emily isn’t an idiot.

“Shh,” Emily says, “I’m watching something.”

But she wriggles again in Lindsey’s lap, and Lindsey can no longer focus on or think about anything other than Emily’s ass. She knows that was by design, and it frustrates her for a moment that she’s so predictable, but then Emily shifts in her lap again and Lindsey decides she doesn’t care. She reaches around and slides a hand under Emily’s shirt, over her abs, and Emily squirms again, pressing her ass back into Lindsey in the process. 

“Your hands are cold,” Emily complains. 

“Watch your show,” Lindsey replies, skating her hand along Emily’s stomach, then higher so that her fingertips brush the underside of Emily’s breast, over her bra. Emily inhales sharply. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Lindsey reminds her. Emily reaches back to touch Lindsey’s head, then rolls her hips down against Lindsey again. 

“I’m not doing this for my health,” Emily says, and Lindsey drops both her hands to Emily’s hips to grip her firmly, pushing and pulling Emily back against her. 

“Brat,” she mumbles, and Emily laughs. 

Emily stops laughing when Lindsey’s hand covers her breast. She reaches for the arm of the couch with her left hand and covers Lindsey’s hand with the other, but over her shirt, which is—frustratingly—still on. Lindsey loves how small Emily feels like this, in her lap. She loves feeling like she can completely surround Emily, loves feeling like Emily wants her to. She finds a Emily’s nipple through the thin fabric of her bra and Emily’s hips jump in her lap. 

“Fuck,” Emily mumbles, and Lindsey murmurs her agreement against the spot where Emily’s neck meets her shoulder. When she drops both her hands to Emily’s thighs to rake her nails across Emily’s skin, Emily tries to twist around, and Lindsey immediately wraps her arms around Emily’s waist again, holding her in place. 

“You put yourself there,” Lindsey says. 

“Wanna see you,” Emily whines, but she reaches for Lindsey’s hand and shoves it up under her shirt again. 

“Later,” Lindsey promises, lowering her voice and speaking it into the back of Emily’s neck just to feel Emily shudder against her. She moves her free hand to touch Emily over her shorts, between her legs, knowing that it will only be enough pressure to drive Emily nuts wanting the real thing. The problem is, _she_ wants the real thing, too, too much to tease for too long. 

Eventually she shoves her hand down the front of Emily’s shorts, and they both groan at the same time; Emily from the sensation and Lindsey from how wet Emily is. She slides her fingers against that wetness and Emily reaches around to cup the back of Lindsey’s neck in one hand, using the leverage to grind against Lindsey’s fingers. Lindsey needs no further encouragement to slip two inside.

Emily digs her nails into the back of Lindsey’s neck and Lindsey mouths along Emily’s shoulder, using her free hand to pull Emily’s shirt until she can suck a mark into Emily’s skin. She’s probably stretching out the collar of the shirt, but she can always replace it, and suddenly she _needs_ to leave a mark, needs to make it obvious to everyone they meet that Emily is hers.

Emily whimpers and grinds down onto Lindsey’s fingers, and Lindsey feels good, feels sexy and in charge, feels like she could get off without being touched at all just from the way Emily moves in her lap. With every movement of her wrist she knows that her palm is pressing against Emily’s clit, and she makes a careful effort to keep doing that, to give Emily more of that. Lindsey drops her hand from Emily’s shirt, moving her mouth to Emily’s neck, and reaches around to tweak Emily’s nipple through her bra again. 

Emily comes immediately, gasping and clawing at Lindsey’s forearm with one hand while she holds onto the couch with her other. Her thighs have clamped around Lindsey’s hand, holding it in place while she shakes apart. Lindsey holds Emily upright with her arm around Emily’s waist, and Emily arches back against her, breathless.

She laughs once when she comes down, and Lindsey is about to say something about it when Emily slips out of her lap and to her knees in front of the couch, facing Lindsey, placing a hand on each of Lindsey’s thighs.

“Take it off,” Lindsey mumbles, tugging at the shoulder of Emily’s shirt. Emily whips it over her head and the mark Lindsey made is pink and obvious against the pale, freckled skin of Emily’s shoulder.

“Now you take off yours,” Emily says, sliding her hands up and down Lindsey’s legs. Lindsey rolls her eyes and tugs her shirt over her head, and then, when Emily’s fingers curl into the waistband of her shorts, she tugs those down, too.

“You’re missing your show,” Lindsey says, and Emily pushes her knees apart, leaning in to nip the inside of Lindsey’s thigh.

“I can always stop,” Emily says, and Lindsey reaches blindly for the remote.

“I paused it,” she says, “you’re good,” and Emily bites her other thigh, then bears down to leave a mark there. The pressure of her teeth against Lindsey’s skin shoots right between Lindsey’s legs, and she has to hold onto the edge of the couch to keep from reaching for Emily’s face.

She fails when Emily pushes her underwear aside and pulls Lindsey to her mouth. Lindsey reaches down and tugs Emily’s hair tie out and buries her hands in Emily’s hair without even thinking about it. When Emily tries to tease her, Lindsey guides her head back to where she wants it. Emily groans against Lindsey when she lets Lindsey guide her, and then Lindsey groans, digging her heels into the floor.

She doesn’t last long. It’s not surprising given that Emily had been grinding in her lap like that, but it still catches Lindsey by surprise when she comes, trembling and gasping. Her hands are shaky when she cups Emily’s face with them. She strokes her thumbs along Emily’s cheekbones and Emily lifts her head, resting her chin on Lindsey’s knee. She’s a mess, her hair wild, her eyes dark, her lips swollen. Lindsey’s never seen anything hotter.

Emily drops a kiss to the top of Lindsey’s thigh, then sits up and reaches for her shirt. She ties her hair back up in its normal bun, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, and plops down next to Lindsey on the couch as if nothing happened.

“You can unpause it,” she says. Instead, Lindsey presses her back into the cushions.


End file.
